And Finally, the Fun Update

We're pregnant!

Glad that's out of the way ;)

The truth is, we found out I was pregnant when I was admitted to the hospital back in October (for OHSS). In fact, we had an idea even before that, from the blood test in the E.R. two days before. My hcg was a 7. (Anything over a 5 is considered a pregnancy.) But nobody could know 100% that it wasn't just leftover in my system from the trigger/Ovidrel shot.. since that's just an injection of hcg. Still, my fertility specialist told the E.R. doc over the phone, "I don't think it's the shot. I think she's a little bit pregnant."

That phrasing made me giggle, I'll admit.

But two days later, when things got really bad and I had to be admitted, they did another blood draw.. and my hcg had gone up. I was preggo. Doc kept joking, "I just don't know with how many."

But we wouldn't find that out for a few weeks. And it was hard to celebrate or be excited in the way one who is trying to conceive always envisions. I had all these ideas on how to announce to my husband when we finally found out. Instead, I had to mutter it from a hospital bed with an IV in my arm. And neither one of us wanted to get too attached to the idea, given everything that was going on at the time.

And a couple days into my hospital stay, I started spotting. I freaked out. Of course I acted like I wasn't too concerned with the nurses and doctors. No idea why. Guess I didn't want to be the emotional/irrational patient.. since I know that, logically, spotting can be completely normal. But I would start to cry whenever I was alone the room. And it wasn't so much that I was 'attached' to the pregnancy, but I didn't want to have to go through it all again, and I didn't want to tell my husband that something had gone wrong.

Luckily, it subsided after just a little more than a day, and my doctor had no concerns whatsoever. "If this wasn't a relatively strong pregnancy, you wouldn't be having this extreme hyperstimulation."

And that's the part I couldn't tell you in the previous chapters, since we hadn't announced yet. If a woman gets hyperstimulation, and she ends up being pregnant, the symptoms and degree of it become much worse. The hormones released during early pregnancy actually prolong the condition. (Yay me!)

So, it was definitely a strange place to be in. "Yes, you're pregnant. But because of that, you're going to feel TERRIBLE for a few weeks, and take a few months to completely recover."

Two weeks after being discharged from the hospital, we had our first ultrasound. And as Brad and I just tried to take it all in, having no idea what this part was going to be like, the doc immediately says, "Oh yeah, there's two."

My husband's face had no reaction. Shock, I'm guessing. I laughed, but inside I was scared shitless. No, really. I don't want to sound ungrateful, but I was terrified. I immediately knew my chances of a natural birth just went down greatly; a home birth was all but out of the question. Two things that I really, really wanted. Finances were going to be hit hard -- really hard. And I was completely overwhelmed with the idea of trying to feed, bathe, soothe, etc. two babies at once.

I'm not sure I'm any less panicked at this point, but I'm trying to just roll with it and accept it. I know that all new soon-to-be parents get a little anxious. I just feel like my anxiety is squared :P

But at the same time, I'm so excited. To see my husband as a father for the first time. To hear a giggle fit down the hallway. To hear someone call me "Mommy."

At this point, I want to send out a HUGE thanks to every person who donated, wished us well, prayed, or provided any level of support. It meant the world to us. And as it turned out, the first cycle of injections that we raised money for.. clearly worked ;)

So, fingers crossed and knock on wood... Our little wish has been answered. Twice. <3

And these are our video announcements:

Follistim, OHSS, and a Long Hospital Stay (Part Four)

My last entry finished with finally turning a corner -- no longer putting on pounds of fluid. I was eager and hoping to go home soon.

Doc came to see me on Sunday, and while I was hoping for a Monday discharge. Alas, he made no such promises.

I continued to improve, other than my decreasing patience for some of the nurses, laying in bed, and eating salads and broth. Man, I was getting irritable.. though the nurses kept saying how calm and nice I was for having been there so long. So.. okay. I was being bitchy by my standards, but probably not by theirs.

Doc came again on Monday. This time, with good news. "I think we're going to send you home tomorrow."

I think I heard angels sing, but I can't be sure.

So, the order was put in to remove my drain. As much as I wanted to leave, this part was freaking me out almost as much as when they put the damn thing in. Before removal, the nurses were instructed to take a little off the top o.O So, just as before, they drained a liter or two, right at my bedside.

It was towards dinner time (I remember, because a plate of food had just arrived for me), when the doctor arrived to remove it. Before I could even ask, she said, "This is probably going to hurt a little.. because it's basically a coil while it's inside, so it straightens out when I remove it. So you'll feel some tugging."

Yeah. I felt some tugging.. and some pulling.. and some sharp pains.. followed by one stabbing pain, and then what felt like a water balloon bursting. (Brad watched this whole thing. Again, I'm not sure how he's not scarred for life.) The doc quickly put on a compression bandage, and stated I was good to go. "It'll probably leak a little bit, but it should stop within a few hours."

LIE!

Within ten minutes, I was gushing out of the compression bandage. I quickly got up out of bed, as if it were my own.. I was concerned about getting the sheets wet. :P Standing up made for the weirdest moment of my life. It was like my water broke, or I was peeing myself for 20 minutes straight. Fluid was dripping down my legs, making an audible splash on the floor. My hospital gown was soaked through. I was too shocked to do anything. Scared to move. Disgusted by standing in a puddle of my own fluid.

Finally, two nurses came in to help.. if you can call it help. They handed me a towel to hold against the bandage, and then they both just stared at me looking dumbfounded. One chimed in, "Well, we'll put one of these absorbent sheets on the chair so you can eat your dinner."

Hello? I'm leaking like a broken hydrant and you want me to just sit down and eat.. in my wet gown? First I was pissed. Then I decided I was more hungry than pissed. So I sat down to eat.

Within seconds, the towel was soaked through, and fluid was flowing onto the chair, then dripping on the floor. I kept looking to Brad for help, as if he could just put his finger in the hole in my side and all would be well.

This turned into the longest night of my life. Every 20 minutes, I'd leak through a bandage. Which meant, I never got to sleep more than 10 minutes at a time. If I got up to use the restroom, I'd spring another leak. Each time, I'd have to call a nurse.. waiting on her as my gown got soaking wet again. She'd re-do the bandage.. each time trying to out MacGyver the leak. "Maybe if I use two of these, and this kind of tape.."

It never really got better.

By morning, we could make it about an hour if I stayed perfectly still. I kept wondering why they couldn't stitch the hole, or put some superglue on it. :P Regardless, they were sending me home.

Good thing too. They had come to take my last sample of blood during the night to run the final tests, but my PICC line had failed. (Only lasted 4 or 5 days. Seems pretty short term for such a medical procedure, but I digress). My body was so pissed it was rejecting medical devices.

A nurse came in to remove the PICC line. It also hurt. Luckily, nothing like the drain.. but an equally odd sensation. As if a large spaghetti noodle was being pulled out of your vein. Good times.

Lastly, they put a fresh bandage on my drain hole, hoping for the best, and we were on our way. Within 20 minutes though.. I sprung a leak. Yeah. I was leaking fluids all over my husband's car. Luckily, he had thought ahead and put a towel down and gave me an extra one for my side. At the end of the 1 hour ride, the towel I was holding and the outside of my pant leg were soaking. This was going to be fun.

As soon as we got home, I had him put a puppy training pad on the bed, and a garbage bag under the sheets (we have a mattress protector, but this called for reinforcements). We tried a normal bandage. Failed within 20 minutes.

Sadly, all that worked.. were Poise pads (yeah, the ones for urinary incontinence). So, that is how I would spend the next week. With huge, essentially maxi pads, taped to my side. I had never felt sexier :P

The upside is that they worked for a couple hours at a time, so Brad didn't have to help me change bandages at all hours of the night. I could finally sleep. And Bristow (our dog) loved it. She was all up in my personal space while I was on bed rest. And my mother was staying with us for a few days, to help let her out or grab me groceries in the middle of the day if I needed something.

Slowly, the leaking started to improve. Bandages were lasting longer and longer. It didn't make changing them any better. My dear husband changed every single bandage during my recovery. With how far to the side it was, it was nearly impossible for me to get medical tape all around it. And that medical tape soon became my nemesis.

It started making my skin raw. Putting on tape and peeling it back off every two hours will do that. It got to the point where we had to rub oil on the tape during each bandage change.. trying to massage it off my skin. Ugh. It was pretty brutal and time consuming.

And every single time Brad would pull the bandage off, I could feel the fluid start coming bubbling out. Strangest sensation of all time. I never could make myself look. I would just freak out and say, "I can feel it! Ewww! I can feel it again!" That is why my only job was to quickly cover the hole with a small bandage, while Brad did all the rest.

The days went on like this for awhile. It was a good 5-6 days before the hole finally closed up. If I see that doctor that told me it would take a day.. I'll slap that bi$@#.

As for my ovaries, they didn't go down at all. I've had several check-ups on them since leaving the hospital. At the first one, which was 2 weeks after I was discharged, the specialist was shocked. "They haven't gone down AT ALL."

And as of the last scan, in late November, they were still huge (though seemingly improved a little). But doc has promised, "I think you'll be back to normal by Christmas or so."

We're running out of time doc...

What's next for us? Right now, we're just going one day at a time.

I hope this series of blogs is helpful for anyone who is considering doing injections (and trying to understand the risks), or someone who is experiencing hyperstimulation and wants to know what to expect. But let me reiterate again. Most people do not have cases this severe. I was one of the literal 1% that this happens to. And yes, it sucked, and it gave me a lot to think about. But it also made me grateful for my amazing support system -- the friends and family that reached out, visited, or checked on me, and most especially, my husband. I owe him big time.

Follistim, OHSS, and a Long Hospital Stay (Part Three)

So I ended Part Two with me telling the nurse I was ready for the drain. And by ready, I mean, felt like I was about to have a heart attack/stroke/etc. Within an hour's time, I was having difficulty breathing and my blood pressure was through the roof. I was legitimately scared -- though equally terrified of the drain being put in.

The nurse said she'd get in touch with my doctor. Problem was, it was 7pm-ish. This might take awhile.

After about a half hour (which felt like forever), she came back to my room. She stated that the person that usually does that has left for the night and they want to know, "Could you possible wait until morning?"

The look of disgust on my face as I looked up at her probably answered the question, but I still stated a very firm "No." She then disappeared into the hall again.

Another half hour passed, and she returned. "Okay. They called in the team to do it. They'll come get you shortly."

The team? How many people does it require to get fluid out of my abdomen? If I wasn't still struggling to breathe, I would have panicked more about this.

Finally.. at about 8:30pm, they arrived with a wheelchair to take me down to radiology. The guy pushing me was trying to make small talk the whole way.. which I was in no condition to do. Meanwhile, it feels like you're in a sick parade when you're being rolled around -- no make-up or even hair brushed -- as you're going by nurses' stations and guests walking the halls. And there I was, without candy to dispense.

He wheels me into radiology and there is a doctor and another female in there. They tell me to "get up on the table." Always my favorite phrase from any physician.

The doctor does some casual chit chat as he's preparing the equipment, explaining they'll start with an ultrasound in order to find a big pocket of fluid to drain. He then informs me that, although it's not protocol, they're going to leave the drain in my side so that nurses can drain fluid whenever I need it. In other words, I'm going to have a plug and little baggie hanging from my side for the duration of my hospital stay. Ehhhhhhh.

They start the ultrasound, and as they sweep across my belly button, the doctor notes, "Well, her ovaries are all the way up here." o.O Um. What now? "Your ovaries are about the size of grapefruits right now. They're taking up your entire lower abdomen."

He then had me roll onto my left side. They gave me a small (aka useless) numbing injection. Then he said, you're going to feel a poke, and then it's going to hurt as I push this in. I opted to NOT look at the needle and tube he was referring to as "this." And holy begeebus, he wasn't kidding. But really the worst part was what happened next.

"Okay, you're going to feel a 'pop' and then some suction sensation." :O

And... POP! Within seconds, fluid was gushing through this tube and into a HUGE, clear biohazard canister. It looked exactly like the canisters you see when you see liposuction on tv. I watched as the canister filled up with a pinkish-clear fluid. I think I would have puked if I hadn't been in total shock, and reeling from the completely bizarre sensation of suction around my internal organs.

They drained 2 liters that night, attached the bag (yuck), and sent me on my way.

Immediately, the bag became a hassle. If I got it caught or it hung loose, it tugged on the incision and HURT. So I had to roll up the bag, wrap it in a washcloth, and store it in my underwear next to my hip. Which meant every potty break involved holding it while I sat down, then trying to balance it on my leg so that it didn't tug/pull out of my stomach. Made for lots of fun, let me tell you.

On the plus side, it was instant relief. By the time I got back to my room, I was breathing easy and I wanted food. Lots of food. There was finally room in my stomach. Luckily, this was roughly the same time that Brad located a nearby pizza place that had vegan garlic bread and pasta. After nothing but broth, pickles, and salads for 5 days.. it was A-M-A-Z-I-N-G.

But then something happened that nobody warned me about. I was about halfway done eating and I got a sharp pain in my abdomen, near where my right ovary should be. And I mean SHARP pain -- as if someone just stabbed me with a knife and started twisting it. I had read how OHSS patients could have an ovary twist and die off, so I was freaking. I was writhing in pain on my bed and crying (and I don't cry unless it's reallllly bad). The nurse then asks, "Do you want a Tylenol?"

Um. Go F yourself lady. You really think I've gone through all this without a complaint and then a Tylenol is strong enough for something that's making me cry; barely able to talk? And Brad, knowing that I'm not one to cry from pain, was legitimately scared. I could see it on his face as he stood by my bedside, helpless. The nurse left to call my specialist.

As the minutes went by, the pain was getting worse and worse. Brad kept asking me where the pain was and how it felt. I kept thinking, "Does he think I'm about to pass out and he's going to have to the tell the nurses what happened?"

The nurse returned after 10-15 minutes (yes, I wanted to kill her for taking so long), and said my doc doesn't think anything happened with my ovary, but that since the fluid is gone, they're basically bouncing against other organs and pulling on ligaments. He apparently had approved me to get some morphine and oxycodone. The idea of accepting it made me uneasy (I'd never been on anything stronger than hydrocodone, and that made me feel awful), but the pain was horrendous, so I told her to go ahead.

UGH! Worst and weirdest feeling ever. It felt like someone hit me in the back of the head; I was instantly 'fuzzy' .. but I also felt like I was going to vomit. Like being drunk and hungover at the same time. I never want that shit again -- even though it did successfully stop the pain. And luckily, it never returned. So whether it was my ovary pulling/hitting something, or perhaps a cyst bursting (what I now suspect), I'll never know.

That night, I slept amazingly well. Since my stats had returned to normal, they left me alone most of the night, so I could actually sleep several hours in a row. But by mid-morning.. the swelling had returned. In fact, my legs were more swollen than ever before. One of the nurses looked alarmed. "I can't even feel where your kneecaps are." o.O

I decided to take another shower anyway. And I didn't realize how bad it was until I was naked in front of the bathroom mirror. I kid you not, my first thought was, "Oh my god! I look like Peter Griffin." And my friends, that was no exaggeration. I turned to my husband, my face filled with shock and dismay.. wondering if he'd ever be able to burn this image from his brain. I muttered, "Can you believe THIS?!" He kind of chuckled, "No. I honestly didn't think you could hold any more fluid, but now you look like Kim Kardashian."

Bless him. He was referring only to my now huge butt. Problem was, I looked like Kim Kardashian if she was 12 months pregnant. I really couldn't believe my eyes. I stood there with in my Peter Griffin glory, a hole in my side with a baggie hanging down. I was amazed that Brad didn't bolt out at that point. But he didn't. He helped me shower, acting as if nothing was different or off about me.

It's hard to explain, but this whole experience has made me feel more loved by him, and more grateful to have him in my life, than anything else we've been through.

At any rate, I clearly was blimping back up. And in fairness, the doc had warned me that the relief and decrease in swelling would be short lived. "Oh, the fluid will come back. That's why we have them leave the drain in. So when you can't take it, we'll take a little off the top."

Within a couple hours, I asked for more to be drained. So, they drained another liter. This time, right at my bedside. Just when I thought things couldn't get freakier, try having a nurse open up the plug in your side, drape it over the side of your bed, and drain your internal fluids into a bucket. Bleh.

Luckily, the next day (Saturday), the fluid did not return. I had officially "turned the corner." Between the IV and drained fluids, the water was finally staying mostly in my bloodstream. Being discharged from the hospital finally felt like it was within reach...

That's probably enough for one installment. I always think these posts are going to be short until I start reliving what actually happened. So the next part will include the drain removal, my discharge, and recovery at home :) Stay tuned.

Follistim, OHSS, and a Long Hospital Stay (Part Two)

My last post ended with me explaining what OHSS is, and me being hospitalized for it. Now, let me describe to you how the hospital stay went and all it entailed. Will probably break this into two parts, since SO much happened.

We arrived at the hospital (Monday, 10/7/13). I had no idea how we even got there, because I had been reclined in the car, holding onto my stomach with my eyes closed. I do remember saying to Brad, very matter-of-factly, "They are NOT putting in a catheter. I don't give a f#@% what they want." Brad wisely did not engage me in conversation.

Brad grabbed a wheelchair and rolled me in. I was taken aback by one thing...

There was nobody in this hospital. There was one front desk person and one person doing intakes. I saw no other patients. No visitors. Nobody walking the halls. Quite bizarre.

It took us 10-15 minutes to do the intake paperwork, and they started to roll me back to my room. At this point, I was thinking, "I better not be sharing a room. That would be torture." and still hovering on, "If they tell me I need a catheter, we're leaving."

Luckily, they rolled me into a HUGE room with only one bed. Ahhh. And even better, there was a bucket collector in the toilet, indicating they expected me to urinate like a normal person. Good. Nobody would have to feel my wrath.

The rooms actually had a spare bedroom, with two cots for visitors to stay, one couch, and several cushy chairs. Not bad.

A nurse immediately came in to weigh me (at this point, I was up about 12 lbs from my normal weight) and give me some lovely hospital gowns. I waddled myself to the bed. Getting in and out of this thing was soon going to be my nemesis. Everyone that saw it (including the nurses) always thought it went lower. But no. No it didn't. The bloated girl was going to have to hop up onto it and slide into it for the next 8 days.

So, then the fun stuff began. They immediately wanted to take some blood samples and put me on an IV. "Ugh. At least it's not a catheter." First problem, because all the fluid was hanging out in my abdomen instead of my blood, they couldn't find a vein in my arm. The IV ended up having to be put in my hand (and they weren't sure that was going to last), and someone finally found a vein in my left arm after an hour or so of trying.

They then handed me the room service menu (it was probably 2pm at this point, and I hadn't consumed anything all day). I quickly asked, "Do you know if there are many vegan options?" Because as I browsed the menu, there were only food titles.. with no description whatsoever. The nurses stared blankly back at me. One eventually muttered, "Well, when you call, they should know. And if they don't, ask for their supervisor."

Looking further at the menu, I was amazed again at the garbage that hospitals feed to the sick. Cheeseburgers, pizza, fries, soda.. I mean, really? I get the occasional junk food. But should it be what a hospital serves directly to your room? Eh.

I spotted about ten items that might be vegan. The first meal I ordered vegetable soup, pickles, and a salad. The tricky part was the dressing. They had a lot of creamy dressings -- ranch, thousand island, etc. But not one vinaigrette? They did have an italian dressing listed, so I ordered that.

Got my meal, and the soup was horrid. I don't know how a vegetable soup (they confirmed was vegan) ends up with an oily film on top.. but it did. And sure enough, that italian dressing had cheese in it. And did the kitchen just have olive oil and vinegar? Nope. So Brad actually had to go buy me a bottle of salad dressing for the nurses to keep in a little fridge. I'm glad he did, since the rest of my stay, I lived entirely off fruit for breakfast, then vegetable broth, salads, and crackers for lunch and dinner.

In fact, it was always quite amusing. Whenever I would call to order, the person taking the order was always so confused. "Is that ALL you're going to eat?" "Oh sweetie. I feel like I'm starving you if that's all I send." "Are you sure you don't want any REAL food?"

If "real food" is oily soup and everything sent to me in plastic and foil packets.. I'll pass ;)

The one saving grace was that they had soy milk. So I could still enjoy some before bed (a typical ritual at home).

Everything went fairly smoothly the first night. The doc had stopped in to check on me, and advised me, "It's going to get a lot worse before it gets better. But if you can make it to the weekend without needing a drain, you might turn the corner without one."

Lovely.

The next day, they started monitoring my urine output hard core. And what freaked me out most was that my urine looked like vegetable soup. No. Really. Dark orange, thick, with specks in it. Seriously. It was so disgusting and bothersome at the same time. The nurse assured me that it always looked like that in OHSS patients.

Every two hours, they'd come in and take vitals. My pulse and blood pressure remained extremely high (compared to my norms). Every morning at 4:30am, they'd come and wake me up to draw blood and to weigh me. Oh, and starting the first day, they also began giving me blood thinner injections each morning.. right into my stomach. She warned me that it was going to burn as the medicine dispersed. Fun, and ironic, considering it was done exactly the same way as the Follistim. Each night, I was putting on several pounds of fluid. And every morning, they were unable to find veins. Getting different nurses, doctors, and anesthesiologists to give it a try. Usually, after an hour or so, they'd get enough blood and leave me alone.

After the second day, I needed a shower. Bless my husband for what he was about to have to see and do. I was truly just starting to look like a blob with limbs. My legs looked like tree trunks (no definition, even around my knees). I had to sit on a shower chair, covering my IV input from the water, as he washed my hair. And the moment he sat down on the shower floor, water spraying into his face, so he could shave my legs.. I fell in love with him all over again. All kidding aside, I had NEVER been so vulnerable, nor felt so unconditionally loved.

A couple mornings later (Thursday), I had peaked. I put on 8 lbs in ONE night. They also couldn't find ANY veins, not even in my feet. And let me just say, having someone poke needle after needle into your feet and ankles is extremely painful.

They decided at that point that I needed a PICC line (a catheter in your arm that goes towards the heart, making it easy access for IVs and blood draws).

Cut to me freaking the F#@% out. Not to the nurses of course. Just hyperventilating all by myself in the solitude of my room. It was only 6am and I was texting Brad. He asked, "Do you need me to take the day off and come down there?" I replied, "I don't know. I'm just freaking out and scared." He, as a wise husband, knew that meant, "Yes, idiot. Get your ass down here." ;)

He arrived about a half hour before the "PICC team." This pair of ladies were set on being a comedic duo. I was in no mood for such things. They were sanitizing the room, making it look like an operating room, while telling me, "It's no big deal, really." Then, as they're about to begin, the older of the two ladies tries to show me my own veins on the ultrasound screen. Then presses down and shows me my vein closing and opening. "See, it's winking at you."

Eh. Barf.

They finish, and while it was nice to be able to remove the cumbersome IV from my hand, the idea of this catheter hanging out near my heart never ceased to weird me out and make me feel like I had constant chest pains.

As the day went on, my feet and legs started swelling BIG time. It started hurting to walk. And when it reached dinner time, I got out of bed to eat, like I had at every meal.. and it was even hard to breathe. I knew this was not good.

I called the nurse.. and I couldn't even believe the words were coming out of my mouth.. "I think I need the drain." I felt so defeated. But you know, if it means being able to breathe, I just had to accept it. The fluid was literally running out of places to go.

So, in the next installment, I'll describe the lovely drain procedure :) Stay tuned.

Follistim, OHSS, and a Long Hospital Stay (Part One)

My last post was all about the preparation leading up to our first cycle of injections (Follistim). And let me tell you, a LOT has happened. This will be a two parter. This post will talk about what led up to the hospital admission. The next one will talk about my hospital visit and all that entailed.

I apologize upfront for all the medical speak, but I'm posting this not just for friends, but for other couples who might find themselves in this situation.. curious about what is actually happening. So, let me start from the beginning.

On 9/17, I took my first Follistim injection. And by "took," I mean cringed, laughed, cried, and shook around while my husband attempted to do it. Once injections began, I had to get blood drawn and an ultrasound done every other day -- to check the status of the follicles my ovaries were growing, and to check my blood estrogen levels.

I was on a fairly low dose (125 units), and responding well. After just 6 days on 125 units, my follicles were near 13mm. So they dropped me to 75 units for the next 2 days. Went in for another ultrasound, and I was ready. I had a total of around 20 follicles bigger than 10mm, with 3 above 16mm (considered mature, likely to contain a viable egg).

Of course, a normal woman only produces one egg a month. As you might imagine, having 20 follicles makes your ovaries a little enlarged and a bit tender. Nothing I wasn't expecting.

So everything looked great. They told me to go ahead and trigger (which makes you ovulate roughly 36 hours later). We triggered on Wednesday night (9/25) as instructed.. and two days later.. something was wrong.

I was at work when my stomach started hurting pretty bad. At first, it felt like terrible gas or constipation brewing. So when I got home, I started doing yoga in hopes of relief.

It did not work.

Then, over the next few hours, my stomach started to swell a bit. So, at midnight on a Friday night, I called my specialist. He wasn't very concerned. "Oh, you probably just have some tenderness from ovulating. If it gets worse, let me know."

Well, by Sunday (9/29), I looked 6 months pregnant (see picture). And it still hurt. So, I called again. He asked me to come to his office on Monday morning.

Monday morning, I waddle into his office. He gives me the once over, and is still not concerned. He says, "You might have a mild case of ovarian hyperstimulation. You should just take it easy this week. Drink lots of fluids, preferably things like Gatorade."

So I walk my growing butt out, and proceed onto bed rest for the week. I drink lots of Gatorade, Vitamin Water, and eat anything salty (even drinking some pickle juice). The salty food is supposed to pull some of the fluid out of your abdomen and back into your blood stream.

Problem is, each day, I'm getting bigger and bigger. I was putting on 7 pounds roughly every two days. On Saturday (10/5) it started getting hard to breathe when I was sitting up. There was so much pressure in my abdomen, my lungs/diaphragm couldn't expand all the way. Another emergency call was made to my specialist. This time, he instructed us to the go to the emergency room.

Off we went.. knowing it would be a disaster. The local hospital had no idea what was going on. They were checking for a whole list of diseases that causes abdominal bloating.. even though I explained to every doctor and nurse that it was ovarian hyperstimulation. They drew blood, did x-rays, and concluded that I just needed to take a diuretic to clear out all the fluid.

Luckily, the ER doc called my specialist to confirm. My specialist basically told them that no way should I be put on a diuretic. The reality was, doing so would pull even more fluid from my blood.. not my abdomen, and it would have made me worse.

So, they didn't do anything for me, and sent me home.. with instructions to follow up with my doctor. Thanks :/

Late Sunday, I started getting lightheaded. I nearly passed out when I was alone, just trying to walk to the bathroom. I proceeded to get worse throughout the night. I was struggling to breathe, my blood pressure was rising, and everything felt wrong. Seriously wrong.

Brad called the doc first thing Monday morning, and we immediately drove down to Indy. Brad had to get a wheelchair to take me into the building, because I could no longer walk.

We enter the waiting room. At this point, I look like a very sick woman, 8 months pregnant, sitting in the fertility clinic. The other women weren't sure what to make of me.

I started feeling really nauseated and light headed. Told Brad to get a nurse. I needed to lay down ASAP.

They took me back, and as soon as I laid back, I started bawling my eyes out. I'm not the crying type, but between the pain, pressure all over my body, sleep deprivation, and just being overwhelmed.. the flood gates opened. By the time the doc came in, I was just trying to breathe normally.

He took one look at me, "We're going to admit you to the hospital. The hyperstimulation has definitely gotten worse."

You think?

I was less than thrilled to be stuck in Indy indefinitely, but eager to get some sort of relief.

So, you might be wondering at this point.. "What IS ovarian hyperstimulation (OHSS)? How does that even happen?"

Well, when you go through fertility treatments, especially with injections, you tend to make more follicles. As I said, I had nearly 20 fairly decent sized ones. When you take your trigger shot, all those follicles release. In some women, those pockets then start to fill with fluid. A chemical/hormonal reaction then happens around the ovaries. The ovaries start pulling fluid from anything nearby, including your blood vessels. Essentially, your blood vessels start leaking water.. making your blood dehydrated; and dumping liter after liter of fluid into the spaces around your organs. Roughly 20-30% of women get mild to moderate cases that just require a little bed rest. Only 1% of patient require hospitalization.

Guess who got to be part of the 1 percent?! Lucky me.

In the next blog, I'll describe my hospital stay and recovery. Stay tuned.

We're Back... (And My HSG)

After a long, and much needed, break.. we're back at it.

Since the standard pills (Clomid and Femara) didn't do anything for us, injections (Follistim) are next.

Before my doc would start injections though, he required that I do an HSG (Hysterosalpingogram). If you're not familiar with this procedure, be grateful. They basically inject some dye, through your cervix, into your uterus and fallopian tubes. They then take an x-ray, looking to see if there are any blockages or deformed areas.

Let me describe how it went.

My hubby was kind enough to take the day off of work, so he could drive me the hour to the doc's office.

We go in and register. It only took about 5 minutes before a technician called my name. She walked me back to this tiny dressing room. On the bench inside was a box of generic pantyliners, and some hospital socks. She handed me two gowns; one to put on normally (open in the back), and the other to put on as a robe. She said, "You can leave your shirt on, but nothing below the waist. And when you're done, just come out here." She pointed to her right, to a small corner in the hallway, that was surrounded by a curtain.

Um. Okay.

I proceeded to strip down and put on my sexy booties. As I headed out to the hall, to see what was behind the curtain, I found 2 other women in the same get-up.

Awkward....

It's not very often you can sit in a waiting room, and know with absolute certainty that none of the women are wearing panties.
For our privacy, I assume, they secluded all of us non-ovulators into this tiny corner and hid us away from the world.

They also kindly provided us with a little information sheet about how the procedure is done. It went great lengths (and ALL CAPS) to explain that many women feel lightheaded afterwards, and that if you do, there's a chain to pull in the dressing room if you need help.

Hmm. Interesting.

So, the technician comes in and tells us the order in which we'll be called. I'm last.

The first woman goes in. I hear them call for her husband to join her. Ironically, he's also named Brad. I chuckled to myself at the idea of her calling "Bradley!," and my husband coming back to see a different woman spread out on the table.

A few moments later, I hear the patient let out a few grunts. Within minutes, the technician runs out to a pantry in the hall, grabbing cans of juice. She quickly murmurs to us, "She just passed out. This might take a little while."

We then hear her talking to the doctor. "Yeah. She passed out. Right on the table. Nope. She didn't even get up first."

Uhhhhhh.

Eventually, the first woman walks back to her dressing room, with her husband supporting her on one side. He then has to go in to help her get dressed.

Next!

The second woman goes back. Her spouse/partner was apparently not present, or opted to not come back. As a bonus for being last, they let hubby come back to my little seclusion corner and sit with me.

So, I'm sitting there, telling my husband how the first lady actually passed out, when we hear screaming. Not just one scream. Not a grunt. But full on, "Someone shot me in the leg!" kind of screaming.

The second patient was clearly having a rough go of it. "It HURTS! It huuuuurts! Stop! Can you stop? Get it OUT!"

THAT is when I got a little shit-my-pants terrified anxious.

I turn to my husband. "SEE what I have to do?!"

I then joke, "Well, she'll be an epidural candidate."

It was my way of reminding myself that if I really wanted to go through labor, this can't scare me by comparison.

Patient #2 emerges, gives me a quick smile with a concerned look on her face, as if apologizing; knowing that her screams of terror have likely given me even more fear.

My turn! No doubt, my stomach was churning and I was tensing up. Bad news bears.

I go into the room, which is very dark, and VERY cold. Granted, they made me remove the 'robe' gown.. so my ass was out for everyone. I knew that between the blue hospital gown and brown hospital booties, my husband was beyond excited. But he'd have to wait. Doctor is going in first.

So, I lay down on this metal table. The technician instructs me, "Just relax. Here are some handles to squeeze when it gets painful. Oh, and it's best if you let your legs just drop to the side... kind of go "froggy."

Sure lady. I'll relax while gripping something in pain. Seems legit.

Doc comes in. Puts on all his protective garb (I get none).

Well, hello cold speculum. It's been awhile.

I can feel everything, but I can't see anything. I just have to stare at the ceiling, hoping this goes quickly.

Unfortunately, the doc is giving me a play-by-play. "Okay, now you're going to feel a pinching... Now, some pressure. Okay, in about 5 seconds, it's going to hurt."

Why tell me that? As soon as you say that, every sphincter in my body tightens up more than a nun at an orgy.

And there it was. The worst internal pain I'd ever had. But I'm a silent sufferer and always have been. No grunt, no yell, no cry. Just breathe.

And just as you're about to breathe through it, the technician yells, "Hold your breath!"

I can't say it was horrific, or that I even wanted to scream. It felt like someone poured some acid into my uterus, and the "pain" really comes from not being able to move or do anything to make it stop. You just have to lay there and take it.

The good news is that it only lasts 15-20 seconds before it dulls down into some cramping.

The doctor leans over, rubbing my arm. "You did great. And Carol, you have a PERFECTLY shaped uterus."

Thank goodness. My husband can now brag to all his buddies about his wife's perfect uterus.

Additionally, my tubes are clear and ready for egg and sperm travel. So, game on. Next month, we'll be starting injections. We'll definitely keep you posted.